The Portrait
by MoriToxyn
Summary: Post-war Fremione one-shot. Hermione pays an evening visit to Diagon alley.


_**[Disclaimer, I do not own anything, it all belongs to J.K Rowling]**_

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Hermione huffed again as she struggled to bump the heavy pram over the cobbles of Diagon alley. She had thought it a good idea at the time, stick to her muggle roots and get a Silver Cross pram but, Merlin, was she regretting that now. The sun hung low in the sky and although it was only September, Hermione could feel Autumn in the air. The busy street was thinning out and most of the people she passed were heading in the opposite direction, away from the closing doors and dimmed lights that signaled the end of another day's trading. There was a time when Hermione didn't know the Diagon Alley that existed after the shops had drawn their curtains but now she knew it was her favourite time of day. There was a sleepy, peaceful air about the place that she had grown accustomed to in her many late night visits. She tended to head down after dinner had been served and eaten and Ron had retired to sit behind the mountain of paperwork he kept by his armchair. She was proud of him and how he had thrived after the war, he settled well into a normal wizard's life, without the yearly threat of death. Despite not returning to complete his education, he had done well for himself. They had married not long after the war had ended and it had been one of few celebratory occasions during the first few years. Despite the joyous occasion there were gaps at the wedding feast that did not go unnoticed.

A pair of young witches smiled at Hermione with recognition as they moved past her, she wasn't sure if she has known them personally, they looked to be only a few years younger than herself. _They were probably at Hogwarts during the war,_ she found herself thinking.

She found it hard to imagine what that must have been like. She spent so much time on the front line herself, running from the Death Eaters and hunting horcruxes, that she couldn't imagine the terror of not knowing, the terror of being taught how to hurt by Death Eater teachers under Headmaster Snape, especially at eleven years old.

She was often recognised in the street, it was one of the many side effects of fighting alongside The Boy Who Lived, wizards and witches everywhere knew your name, some were even taught about you in school.

A smile grew upon Hermione's face when her eyes rested on the garish coloured windows of her destination. She steered the pram along the side street, away from the locked front door and came to the quiet side door. She turned the handle slowly and entered the building, moving along the corridor that followed.

A shop such as Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was never quiet, even once it's many patrons had left it's floors, the air was still filled with the muffled fizzing of products, slow burbling of many potions and tonics and the persistent whistles and squeaks emanating from the pygmy puff cages. Hermione often thought she heard fireworks softly exploding from somewhere, though she could never be sure.

She could hear voices from the end of the corridor and she moved closer towards them. As she approached they got clearer and she could begin to make out what was said.

"No, no, Georgie, you're not thinking big enough!" A man's voice rang out whilst another laughed at the enthusiasm, "Maybe if you try charming it to scream anytime someone tries to take it off?"

"Mate, its already going to make their hair green, do we really want to add to that trauma?"

There was a brief pause before both men chimed in together loudly "Of course we do!"

Hermione peaked her head around the door and she could see George sat at the large desk, surrounded by a multitude of hats, from caps to beanies. She was half certain she could make out a bonnet somewhere under there. He didn't notice her at first so she coughed politely and he looked up from the beanie clutched in his hand to see her. His face instantly broke out in a grin.

"Hermione!" he extended her name by around four syllables and stood, rushing over to throw open the door and envelope her in a great hug.

She laughed as he jostled her around happily, "Hey Uncle George, look who is here to see you."

George put her down and pulled the pram further into the room. He bent low over it so that he came face to face with the tiny baby inside. After a moment, he drew one finger and tapped the baby's nose, making a small 'boop' sound as he did so.

"Hello there, Rose, wonderful to make your acquaintance again. You might not remember me, I'm one of the red-haired strangers you cried at in the hospital."

Rose gurgled happily, laughing at the man in front of her and he grinned. "That's more like it, young lady."

Hermione smiled and moved her gaze from the pair until her eyes fell on her true reason for visiting.

She felt George push the pram closer to her side and he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll leave you two to it. It was great seeing you, Hermione." He turned to leave before swivelling last minute to look into the pram, "You too, Rosie! Make sure you misbehave!"

He left the room, pulling the door to behind him, and Hermione took a step closer to the portrait on the wall.

"Hi." She said softly.

"Hi" Fred said back, smiling down at her from his frame.

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It was an excellent portrait, Fred sat there, surrounded by all sorts of gadgets and gizmos, some of his experiments exploding softly in the background and he wore his Wizard Wheezes robes. Beneath the portrait was a plaque that read:

 **Fred Weasley  
** **1st April 1978-2nd May 1998  
** **Proud brother, son and all-round troublemaker  
** **Co-founder of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes**

 **"Mischief Managed"**

"I've not seen you in a while, have you been up to much?"

She pointed at the pram and glared at him, "you know very well that I was having a baby. For one, I have been pregnant for ages and secondly, George must have told you."

"Hmm," Fred teased, "Now that you mention it he may have said something about you having gravy or joining the navy or something, I guess he probably _said_ baby, now I think about it. That would make more sense."

She laughed and sat in George's chair.

"If you had arms, Fred Weasley, I would hit you."

"Now, now, Hermione you know that words hurt."

From where Hermione was sat she could reach into the pram and she did so now, stroking a sleepy Rose's cheek.

"Are you ready to meet your mean Uncle Freddie?" She whispered in a sing song tone.

"Don't listen to her, Rose, I'm delightful."

Hermione lifted Rose from the basket and turned her so she could face the portrait.

Fred stared at her for a while, a range of emotions crossing his painted face as he looked upon his niece. Hermione stood and brought them closer so that Rose was in grasping distance of the portrait. She brought one tiny little pink hand up to the painted Fred's face and he flushed.

"She's beautiful Hermione. She looks just like you."

Hermione smiled, "I think she looks a lot like Ron too though, we will have to see as she grows up."

She looked at Fred's face and he turned to her, "You know, she's pretty perfect as she is but she would be much more perfect if she were ours."

She felt her heart pang a little, feeling the familiar sorrow towards the future that was stolen from her and Fred Weasley.

Before the war she had predicted a very different outcome for her life if she were to survive it. They had spoken about it together, in those short, stolen moments during the lead up to the battle. Where they would live, when they would marry, what they would call their children. In none of those futures had she ever predicted that Fred would not be alive.

Of course, almost no one had known about Fred and her, the war was too pressing, too present on everyone's mind. They were going to announce themselves after, once the dust had settled. Wartime is a dangerous time to play the romance game and, particularly with Hermione's position on Harry's side, coming out would have left them both vulnerable. Hermione hadn't wanted Fred to become more of a target and they had kept their relationship a secret. George knew. He had been the one to hold Hermione's hand on her wedding day and tell her that Fred would be proud of her for managing to carry on with her life despite him but she couldn't help but still feel guilt.

"Hermione." Fred's soft voice stirred her. "You know I still love you. I know I'm a painting and all that but I did love you right until my death, heck, even after. I just want you to know that before I say what I'm about to say."

She frowned at him.

"You need to let me go."

She clutched Rose tighter to her and felt her squirm.

"You need to throw yourself in with Ron and stop feeling guilty, he loves you deeply and I know you care about him too. You're married now and whilst I wish it was to me, that wasn't to be."

"I do love him," she said after a moment, "but that doesn't mean I love you any less. I will always wish things were different, Fred Weasley."

He closed his eyes and smiled, when he opened them she could see brush strokes that formed tears inside.

"Good." He said, "I mean, I'm glad I left behind a legend."

She chuckled and brushed a finger down the paintwork of his left cheek.

"That you did, Weasley, that you did."

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 _ **A.N.**_ _Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and if you enjoyed this take a look at my other fic 'Weasley's Wizard Wonderings', it's a bit longer but still Fremione. Also if there is any pairings/situations you would like me to write, let me know! Love, Mori x_


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